


Alternatively,

by ibohemianam



Series: Chaconne [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibohemianam/pseuds/ibohemianam
Summary: After Scarif, their galaxy survives, barely.The Latest:This is how it ended. This is how it began.





	1. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and Leia speak in the aftermath of Alderaan.

Cassian was used to the cold.

He didn’t particularly like it.

Hoth was, quite literally, a thrice-frozen ball of ice hurtling through space at Force-forsaken speeds.

He didn’t particularly like it, but he didn’t particularly mind it either.

It was quiet in his new quarters, most of the base having hunkered down for another unforgiving night. His back spasmed, and he grunted quietly, shifting on his mattress. Above him, Kes Dameron snored thunderously, turning and smacking a flailing limb against the wall, dead to the galaxy.

Cassian sighed and sat up, rustling mightily in his winter coat. The thin standard-issue blankets slipped off into his lap to no apparent effect. He bent slowly and tugged on his boots, then gingerly levered himself upright, limping for the door.

Datapad tucked into a pocket, he wandered down to the hangar bay, stood there a few long moments, shivering, then turned and trudged to the mess. He propped himself up against the wall, out of both habit and necessity, and pulled out his datapad, poring over the latest reports of Imperial destruction in the Core.

He read, of course, about Alderaan. Or what had been Alderaan. The grief was a dull, pulsing thing, occasionally sharp for its inevitability, for his resignation.

Someone slouched onto the bench across from him.

Cassian looked up, startled, into a vaguely familiar face.

“Hi,” said the man, clutching a steaming caf mug.

“Sorry,” Cassian replied, mind churning, “Do I know you?”

“Han Solo,” the man replied.

“Cassian Andor.”

“I know who you are.”

Under any other circumstances, Cassian would have bristled, but he was tired, and in the man across from him, he saw a similar weariness.

“Leia told me about you,” Han said.

Cassian set his datapad down.

“Did she,” he said.

Han took a look pull from his mug, knuckles white around the handle.

“She said you were on Scarif.”

Cassian waited.

Han set his mug down. The scent that wafted across the table was of something much stronger than caf. He leaned forward and looked away.

“She said you knew her father. That you were close.”

Cassian wondered what this smuggler meant to the princess that she would be telling him these things. Pained, he realized she was not a princess anymore.

“That is true,” he said evenly.

Han shot him a sour look, took another pull of his decidedly alcoholic caf. Cassian watched him closely, tensely.

“Look,” Han said, a spent breath, mug clunking back down to the table, “I was just wondering if you could talk to her or something. I mean, I know we found all those survivors, but it’s not like any of them actually knew her or her dad before--” he waved a hand at the ice walls and the ice floor and the ice ceiling “--all this.”

Cassian said nothing.

“I know it’s a weird thing to ask,” Han mumbled, head drooping a little closer to the table, “You don’t really even know me. But I think it would help.”

“How do you think she is doing?” Cassian asked.

Han shrugged sloppily.

“She hates me, she loves me, she loves everyone, hates everyone, I don’t know. But I know it’s gotta be rough on her.” He stared at the bottom of his empty mug. “She’s so good at being, you know, _Princess Leia_ that people forget she’s just a kid.”

“But not you,” Cassian said pointedly.

Han shrugged again, looking away with decidedly bleary eyes.

“We’re all just kids,” he muttered, “Some of us are just a little older than others.”

The door to the mess hissed open.

“Oh fark,” Han said, rising unsteadily, “Guess that’s my cue to go.” He snatched at his mug, missed, tried again. Missed. Cassian, eyebrows raised, handed it to him. Han blinked.

“Good luck,” he slurred, staggering away. He half-bowed, half-tripped to the small figure standing in the doorway.

Leia Organa, regally wrapped head-to-toe in several thick blankets, looked unimpressed.

Cassian smiled faintly at her, jerking his head in invitation.

Leia trudged over, walking stiffly, mummified from the cold. She sat in Han’s recently-vacated seat.

Neither spoke.

“I thought you’d be in the hangar,” she said after a while.

“Too cold,” he replied.

Leia snorted, breath drifting in the air. She studied the worn surface of the durasteel table.

“What did Han want?” she asked.

Cassian looked at her. She frowned at the table.

“He was drunk,” he replied honestly, neutrally.

Leia snorted again, a choked sound, lips pressed together.

Something in Cassian’s chest tightened. Stiffly, he swung his legs over the bench so that he was facing her.

“Leia,” he said quietly.

She snapped her head up, dark eyes bright, angry.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she snapped.

“What?” he asked levelly.

“I can’t talk about it,” she said, one fist clenched, the other, trembling, clutching her makeshift shawl, “If I talk about it, I’ll--” she choked, swallowing angrily.

“You’ll what?” Cassian probed, “You’ll grieve your planet? Your people? Your family?”

Leia looked away, jaw clenched.

“Why would that be a bad thing?” he continued, “Those are things that should be grieved.”

“There’s so much I need to be doing. I can’t--the _Rebellion_ can’t--afford to fall apart.”

“I know you’re a princess, Leia,” Cassian said gently, with the ghost of a crooked smile, “But the Rebellion does not revolve around you.”

She stared at him, hurt and confusion flickering across her face.

“We are all the Rebellion,” he said, holding out his hands, “Many people--” he carefully reached out and took her hands in his, “--together.”

Leia pressed her trembling lips together. A tear escaped down her cheek.

Cassian swallowed, emptiness yawning inside him.

“Together, Leia,” he repeated softly.

Leia’s face crumpled, and Cassian gently pulled her around the table to sit by his side.

She sobbed quietly, not quite leaning into him, but not quite pushing away.

He didn’t wrap an arm around her shoulders. She wasn’t a child to be comforted. She was a woman to be understood.

“I miss them,” she whispered, so brokenly, “I miss them so much.”

Cassian hesitated.

“Me too,” he said quietly.

Leia drew back, searching his face.

“All of them,” he continued hoarsely.

She reached out, impulsively, and placed a cold hand on his cheek. There were no tears in his eyes.

“The Rebellion is a sacrifice, Leia,” he rasped, “They understood it. We also must, both for ourselves and in their honor.”

Leia slowly drew back, wiping tears from her face.

“My father,” she said, staring at her hands, folded in her lap, “You knew him well.”

A statement.

“I owe him my life.”

An understatement.

“I always wondered,” she said curiously.

Cassian looked down at her, so young, so uncertain.

He opened his mouth. He wanted to. To reassure. To explain. To maintain.

But the words died.

How many fathers had he lost?

Leia felt him tense and drew away. Somewhere, a door shut.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, bitter words.

She looked as if she understood.

She did, now.

She wrapped an arm around his waist. They sat.

Together.


	2. Triage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of Scarif. Jyn is a little territorial. Shara worries.

“Why didn’t they fire?” Jyn demanded, “They were right there.”

She sounded angry. He would be too, if he’d been planning on being dead, not caught on the edge somewhere in between.

Something about this felt familiar.

The transport shuddered, and he gasped for breath, pain, crushing pain arcing through his chest, circling around to his spine, reaching up to his head, relentlessly enveloping, crushing.

“Kay,” he moaned.

Hands on his shoulders, hands pressing into the sluggishly bleeding wound on his hip.

“Cassian?” Jyn said, her voice very close.

He reached for something familiar.

“Kes,” he mumbled.

“No, I’m here, right here.”

She grabbed his wrist tightly. He recognized her hand by touch.

He forced his eyes open. Closed them right away, head exploding, reeling, bursting into infinite fragments.

“Jyn,” he rasped.

Her other hand came around to grip his wrist.

“Anyone else?” The words were harsh in his mouth.

He felt her shake her head in the way her hands tightened in denial.

“How long until we’re back?” she shouted into the cockpit.

Cassian winced, her voice ringing, echoing in his ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered, bending close, “Just a few more minutes.”

By that, he knew she meant hours. With his eyes closed, it was easier to tell when she was lying.

A clatter of light feet. A familiar voice.

“How’s he doing?”

“Shouldn’t you be flying this thing?” Jyn snapped.

Cassian dragged his eyes open.

“Shara,” he breathed, turning limply towards her.

She crouched beside him, hand pressed to his face.

“You have to stop doing this,” she murmured, gently sweeping hair out of his eyes.

Jyn hovered protectively over him, hackles raised.

“ _Jyn_ ,” he repeated, warningly.

Shara looked over at her, arching an eyebrow.

“We’re in hyperspace, so I thought I’d be more help down here,” she said.

Cassian scrabbled weakly at her with his free hand.

“Kes,” he insisted, eyes wide, suddenly frantic, “ETB, Melshi--”

Jyn stared at him, uncomprehending.

Shara took his hand, held it, tightly.

“I haven’t heard anything,” she said quietly, and Jyn suddenly recognized the familiar tension in the stiff lines of her shoulders, the worry creasing the corners of her eyes. She relaxed incrementally.

“What’s he talking about?” she asked, more than demanded.

Shara busied herself checking the unwieldy bandage on his hip, pressing it tighter. Cassian’s eyes fluttered closed.

“The ground troops,” she replied after a brief silence, amending, “The volunteers.”

Jyn thought about Bodhi. Chirrut. Baze. She looked away.

“You would know Melshi, actually,” Shara said with a small smile, tugging Cassian’s shirt back down. Jyn turned back towards her. “You hit him with a shovel on Wobani.”

Jyn huffed a laugh, more of an exhale.

“Kes wouldn’t let him hear the end of it,” Shara continued, and the worry-lines were back, heavy, familiar.

“Kes?” Jyn asked.

“My husband,” Shara replied, standing and rummaging around in one of the storage cabinets, “He’s also on ETB--Extraction Team Bravo,” she clarified, “Wasn’t on Wobani, though.”

She pulled a plastifoil blanket from the cabinet and opened it with a thunderous crinkling, tucking it in around Cassian.

At Jyn’s look, she said, “He gets cold in space.”

Jyn reluctantly let go of Cassian’s wrist, hands suddenly cold with the absence of contact, and stood gingerly, creaking into a seat in the tiny cabin of their stolen Imperial ship.

The hard drive on her belt clanked loudly against the durasteel seat.

Shara watched the shock settle in and wordlessly handed her a plastifoil blanket of her own.

* * *

Jyn didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until they dropped out of hyperspace with a lurch, Yavin 4 looming before them, green and welcoming.

Shara was back in the cockpit, urgently comming the command center. Cassian was still stretched out on the floor, pale and unmoving.

Jyn eased herself back onto the floor to his side, carefully shifting weight to her good ankle. His chest rose and fell shallowly, unevenly.

They barrelled through the atmosphere with a mighty groan of the particle reflectors, and Jyn braced herself against his shoulder as Shara swooped to a delicate landing in the main hangar. She was out of the cockpit and smashing the door controls open before Jyn could gather her thoughts.

Some medical personnel, obviously forewarned, swarmed into the cabin, ruthlessly efficient.

“What happened?” one of them demanded roughly. Another faceless arm looped a triage chip through Cassian’s shirt, cycling straight to red.

Jyn opened her mouth, dry.

She tried again.

“He--” she stammered, “He fell. We were climbing, and Krennic shot him, and he fell.”

Shara’s gaze tightened, and she took Jyn’s arm and pulled her out of the way as they rushed Cassian out on a repulsor bed.

“The Death Star plans,” Jyn said numbly, the weight, the burden hanging off her hip, burning, “I have to--the council--”

Shara looked at her shrewdly.

“Ten credits say you won’t make it out the door before falling over,” she said, looking pointedly at Jyn’s ankle. She waved over an unobtrusively hovering corpsman and flatly demanded, “Repulsorchair.” The corpsman hurried off, and Shara turned back to Jyn, holding out her hand.

“I’ll take them to the council,” she said, “You’re not really coherent right now.”

Jyn stared at her outstretched hand, felt the weight of countless lives. Hesitated.

“Jyn,” Shara said firmly, her brown eyes--familiar, so similar--open and genuine, “Let me take them.”

Jyn had trusted those eyes before.

She unclipped the hard drive, slowly handed it over.

“I’ll make sure they’re safe,” Shara said, and Jyn believed her.

The corpsman returned with the repulsorchair, and Jyn sat. He pinned a triage tag to her shirt, cycling all the way to green.

With one last look, Shara turned and hurried off, swallowed in the sea of rebel uniforms.

* * *

Senator Mothma thanked her for her casual delivery of potentially the most important hard drive in the history of the galaxy and then politely evicted her from the command center while the council reconvened.

Shara stood in the bustling corridor, heart torn. She checked her commlink. Nothing.

She went down to the medbay. From the pinched faces of the medical personnel, she gathered she’d be better off searching on her own.

Incoming ships were called in a seemingly continuous stream, staggering, limping back to base. Snatches of conversation rose and fell, waves pulsing, demanding attention.

“--see the star destroyers--”

“--Hammerhead---”

“--out of nowhere--”

“--never seen--”

It was an exercise in futility.

She took the stairs down to the hangar, still checking her comlink every few minutes. Still nothing.

She helped put out a fire aboard a torn-up X-wing and towed the smoking remains into the hangar to await repair. She helped medical personnel pull bleeding, screaming, crying, dying people onto repulsor-beds. She stayed with dead bodies until someone else came along. She refueled X-wings and A-wings, scrambled, on high alert in case Imperial Forces had followed the crippled remains of their fleet back to Yavin 4.

She knew she should be up there in her ship, but with a stomach like lead, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage liftoff.

She ran into L’ulo. He placed a large hand on her arm and didn’t say a word.

“Arvel--” she began.

“--it’s fine,” L’ulo interrupted, “We’re supposed to be off duty, regardless.”

“Have you heard anything?” she asked, “Anything at all?”

L’ulo hesitated.

“ _L’ulo_.”

“General Merrick is dead,” he said heavily, red eyes dark, “Most of Blue Squadron is gone.”

Shara swallowed.

“I haven’t heard anything about the ground troops, but… you saw the walkers.”

The announcement came in for another landing transport, an Imperial cargo ship. Shara whipped her head around.

“Go,” L’ulo said.

She sprinted for the landing pad.

The loading ramp was down already, the engines powered off as medical swarmed inside. Shara immediately realized it was a different cargo ship, not the now-infamous Rogue One. No, but she recognized the uniforms inside. There was Tuck, staggering out into the sun, blinking, bloodstained, blaster clutched in his hand.

She seized him by the shoulders.

“He’s dead,” he mumbled, listing heavily, “They’re all dead.”

“ _Tuck_ ,” she demanded.

He sat heavily on the ferrocrete and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Shara turned and tore up the loading ramp, pushing past the triage team armed with black chips.

Pao. Bistan. Trip.

Sakas, red-tagged, rushed past her on a stained repulsor-bed.

And across several jumpseats, hands carefully, incongruously folded across his chest--Melshi.

Shara did not cry, though Ruescott Melshi was the man who, for many years, she had trusted with her husband’s life.

She backed away, stumbling into the ladder that led to the cockpit. Out of instinct, she turned and climbed.

She sat there in muffled removal until she could breathe again.

Someone sucked in a breath.

Shara jerked her head up and stood. Numbly, she reached for the pilot’s chair.

“Kes,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, blood-streaked, expressionless, as if unsurprised to find her at his side.

“Was it worth it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.


	3. All Is Not Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian meets Poe. Jyn shouts a lot.

Kes Dameron fully expected Cassian Andor, captain of Intelligence, cold-blooded spy, only survivor of a martyred people, to flee at the sight of Shara Bey, nine months pregnant, five hours into labor, screaming on a rattling medi-bed. He himself was sorely tempted to do so, but he found himself pinned to the bed by one of his beloved wife’s hands clutched in the front of his shirt.

However, Cassian, in the next bed over, sat up unsteadily, stood still more unsteadily, and tottered towards them.

“Cass--” Kes grunted, struggling and failing to rescue himself from his wife’s death grip as she screamed again, “Cass, go lie down. This, right here--This is a warzone.”

“ _FARK. YOU._ ” Shara spat, “Kes Dameron, you useless piece of--” Whatever colorful descriptor she had been about to utter was drowned out by another full-throated scream.

Kes winced, ears by now long numbed beyond the point of ringing, and said, “Sorry, babe. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Stop. _Apologizing_ ,” Shara grunted, “It’s not like you did this. All. By. Yourself.”

Cassian, freshly out of full bacta immersion, fell more than sat in Kes’s recently vacated chair with a small grunt. Wordlessly, he reached through the rails along the medi-bed and took Shara’s hand.

A chain of events then occurred.

Kes’s flailing arm knocked over the hovering medical droid, which crashed to the ground. A nurse came running. He tripped over the remains of the medical droid, and his flailing hand seized the edge of the privacy curtain as he fell. The curtain gave way with another brisk crash, sending the security alarms wailing. K-2SO then crashed through the door into the ward, durasteel hands raised.

And, in the ensuing pandemonium, his son was born.

* * *

“Do you want to hold him?” Kes asked, staring at the pink, fuzzy bundle in his arms.

“If you trust me to,” Cassian replied faintly, propped up in his medi-bed after what had certainly been an eventful morning.

Kes stood slowly, carefully. Shara, also propped up in bed, watched him warily.

“Here,” Kes said, depositing his son ( _his son_ )into his best friend’s lap.

Cassian struggled to sit up straighter, Poe’s head in the crook of his arm. He stared. Kes stared. Shara stared.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Kes demanded, after a long silence.

“Ssshhh,” Cassian whispered, eyes fixed on his little burden.

Shara laughed weakly, holding out her hand. Kes took it. She pulled him down to sit on her bed. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Be quiet, Kes,” she said.

He paused, looking at her, then back across the room.

“I’m feeling a little possessive,” he said.

She smiled.

“I love you,” she said.

He sighed, leaned back into her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he replied.

* * *

Watching Cassian hold Poe a few days later, he said, joking, “You look like you’ve done this before.”

After a long silence, Cassian said, “I have.”

Kes looked at him, sidelong.

Cassian, pale and wan, shifted Poe in his arms, dark eyes brooding.

“You ever think about having kids?” Kes asked, after another long pause.

“I think I’m missing about half the equation there,” Cassian replied drily, looking up at him from under thick, shaggy hair.

“Or are you,” Kes shot back.

Cassian glared at him, absently rubbing Poe’s back.

The door to the ward hissed open.

“Speaking of which,” Kes said, significantly.

“Shut it,” Cassian growled.

“Kes,” Jyn Erso said, striding to Cassian’s side.

“Hey Jyn,” Kes replied, lips twitching, “Welcome back. Nice tan.”

“How’s Shara?” she snapped, “The baby?”

“Good,” Kes said, “And--” he pointed at Cassian, “--sleeping.”

Jyn finally turned to Cassian, registering the blanket-swaddled bundle on his shoulder.

“Oh,” she said.

“I’m fine too, thanks,” Cassian said.

“Shut up,” she replied.

“I think I’ll go now,” Kes said, gagging on the tension.

Cassian glared at him as he handed Poe over. Kes took him quickly, hoping to make it to the door before detonation woke his son and scattered the remaining shreds of his sanity across the galaxy.

“Well, imagine my surprise--” Jyn began.

“--No,” Kes held up a hand, slinging Poe’s diaper bag over his shoulder.

“ _What?_ ” she snapped.

Poe stirred in his arms.

“Wait,” he demanded, hurrying for the door. He opened it, stepped outside. He poked his head back into the ward. “Okay,” he said, “Go for it.”

Cassian closed his eyes, sinking into his bed.

“Traitor,” he said weakly.

“Go easy on him,” Kes said, and fled.

* * *

Jyn watched the door shut for a moment, perplexed. Then she turned back to Cassian, who, if possible, had sunk deeper still into the folds of the medi-bed. His eyes were closed.

“You idiot,” she muttered, hands on her hips.

Cassian licked his lips, forcing his eyes open.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped.

He blinked, slowly.

“Like what?” he rasped.

“Like--” she fumbled, “--Like you know I’m about to shout at you.”

“Well, aren’t you?” he asked.

“ _Yes_ , but--” she cut herself off, clenching a fist.

He watched her, lips pressed together.

“How was Tatooine?” he asked, neutrally.

“Hot,” she snarled.

“Okay,” he replied.

She shifted, crossed her arms across his chest.

“When do you get out of here?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, maybe,” he replied, shrugging carefully.

“ _Fark,_ Cassian,” she burst out. He winced. She continued, louder, “I was--”

The door hissed open again.

Princess Leia Organa, one foot over the threshold, froze in her tracks.

“I’ll come back later,” she said quickly, and turned.

The door hissed shut.

Cassian looked back up at Jyn.

“You were--?” he prompted.

“ _Nothing_ ,” she snapped. At his look, she relented. “I was worried, okay? _Fark_. It took you long enough to get better after--after Scarif, and now _this?_ ” Her voice rose again. “Naboo? _Really!?_ ”

Cassian sighed.

“I was the only one--”

“--who’s already been to Naboo _three times_ , and every time, you’ve come back more dead than alive.”

“You weren’t here for those.”

“And that matters _how!?_ ”

Cassian reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling a growing pain in his temples.

“Jyn--” he tried again, wearily.

“--Promise me you won’t do this again,” Jyn demanded, sharp, terrified.

“I can’t do that, and you know it,” he returned, frustrated.

“And we’re right back where we started,” Jyn spat, “I don’t know why I bother.”

Something sparked in his chest. He ignored it.

“Maybe you should figure that out first,” he snapped, straightening, “Instead of blaming me for something I can’t control.”

“Something you _can’t control?_ ” Jyn hissed, stepping closer, “You can’t stand it when you’re not in control. You love controlling everything. There’s _nothing_ you can’t control.”

“If you really believed that,” he snarled, “You should have left me on Scarif.”

That stopped her short.

Color high in her cheeks, she glared at him, piercing, shredding.

“You don’t mean that,” she said.

“Oh, I do.”

Face-to-face, they breathed each other’s heat.

“Sometimes,” she said, looking him straight in the eye, “I wish I had.”


	4. In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Scarif, they wait.

In her mind, there had never been any question about whether or not she would stay. The slow, creeping feeling of responsibility after Jedha had grown, blossomed, swelled until it eclipsed her desperation, refined it into something hard, unrelenting. Loyalty, that’s what it was. Loyalty was what she’d seen, loyalty to something greater than the rebellion, greater than any personal differences, challenging the bland indifference she had adopted after nearly two decades on the run.

Jyn Erso had never been one to retreat from a challenge.

So she stayed, determined to justify herself. She stayed so she couldn’t run, couldn’t forget.

Cassian slept, hovering somewhere in the yawning grey expanse between pain and release. She visited him often. Out of responsibility.

They had the Death Star plans. There were rumblings around the base. It was high time for the Rebellion to go on the offensive, some said. Mothma’s still looking for peace, others spat, smelling of blood and dirt and blaster discharge. Jyn knew what she would do. What she would always do, if given the choice.

Fight.

* * *

Kes sat and waited. He was good at that.

There was nothing much else for him to do. As one of the three surviving members of ETB, and the only one of those to have escaped unscathed, he had been afforded a period of indefinite leave--until the council figured out what to do with them, but that remained unsaid.

So he sat. And waited.

Sometimes Cassian woke, eyes and dark, dull, asking the same muddled questions. Apologizing, always apologizing. Mostly, he slept, wasting slowly away. There wasn’t enough bacta to fill a tank, but Kes wasn’t sure even bacta could fix what had happened this time.

Shara was out on patrol more often than not, drilling, drilling, frantically preparing for what was appearing to be an inevitable assault on the Empire.

Occasionally, Jyn Erso would be at Cassian’s side when he arrived. She’d never introduced herself. Everyone knew who she was.

The moment he entered the ward, she’d be up and out of her seat, brushing past him before he could say a word. He’d walked in once on her crying quietly, holding Cassian’s hand in both of hers. He slipped out before she could see him, and when he returned a half hour later, she was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

His first steps were weighed by pain. The following many were weighed by guilt. He heard of the destruction of Alderaan and wished, not for the first time and not for the last time, that he hadn’t climbed twelve stories to save a dream that was quickly being smothered by fear.

It took his appearance, wavering, half-delirious, _furious_ , in the command center for them to authorize the strike on the Death Star.

But it was too late. Too late.

Bitterly, he read of their victory in the base-wide communique. He caught a glimpse of Leia as he was hurried onto a medical transport for Hoth. She caught his eye and her lips trembled. Then they were swept apart again, Jyn was at his side, and another part of his past was dead.

Jyn Erso.

Stubbornly, she avoided him, except when circumstances forced them together. Then, she wouldn’t leave his side.

Kes watched them warily but demanded no explanation.

Kes, too, had changed.

Cassian couldn’t look him in the eye. ETB had followed him without question, lending aid where aid was not due, and all had paid a price too high for him to stomach.

“I don’t blame you,” Kes said on the way to Hoth, “It’s not your fault.”

Jyn looked away.

“You don’t believe that,” Cassian replied, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Kes didn’t reply, only sat back in his seat. He stared vacantly out the viewport.

On his own time, in quiet, dark corners, he grieved. He remembered recruiting Ruescott Melshi from the highest echelons of an Imperial training installation, seconding him for leadership of ETB. He remembered the Founding Day celebrations on Alderaan with Leia Organa at his side, laughing, tugging his peaked cap from his head and flinging it out away into the night. He remembered Bail Organa. He grieved for them, taking their loss and adding it to the fire that had sparked to life the day the Empire had landed on Scarif and clouded the sky with the ashes of his people.

Kes knew. It was in the way he shifted, restless, in the bunk above. It was in the way he sat, heavily, beside him in the mess and finished his meal without a word. It was in the way he spoke to Shara, quiet and low, eyes forever on his back.

Jyn knew. It was in the way she refused to help him out of his seat. It was in the way she looked through him, pretending not to see. It was in the way she shouted, clear and sharp, when he finally apologized to her face.

“If it wasn’t for me,” she cried, “None of this would have happened. My father built the Death Star for me, to keep me safe. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, but you don’t see me sitting around all day blaming myself.” She stepped closer, into his face, oppressively familiar. “I’m _doing_ something about it.”

Cassian Andor had never been one to retreat from a challenge.


	5. Detente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kes does some shouting, Jyn displays her programming skills, and Cassian just doesn't know what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like pulling teeth, this chapter.

She was the one who stole the Imperial security droid. He was the one that put it back together.

There had been no backup drive. After a lifetime of intelligence work, he’d known better than that.

When she showed up at the door to his quarters, dragging seven feet of slightly smoking Imperial durasteel on a wheezing repulsorlift cart, banging loudly when he knew that she knew the access codes, he stood aside and let her in without a word. She silently dumped the droid on the icy floor with a loud clunk and handed him a C-3 base card.

He took it and watched her stalk out the door.

“No, it was just Cass’s best friend, the spitting wampa,” Kes said into his datapad, “She just dumped an Imperial security droid in our quarters. Since, apparently, that’s what passes for courtship these days.”

Cassian ignored him and stepped over the droid, straddling it and wrenching its rear access panel open.

“No,” Kes continued, “They didn’t talk. They never talk. That’s their main form of communication. Silence.”

Cassian flicked open his knife and excised the K-X base card, replacing it with the C-3 base card.

“I’m telling you,” Kes said, “It’s become an actual language. I’m almost fluent. It’s really easy. Just don’t say anything. And expect everyone to understand you.”

Cassian stood and clipped his knife back onto his belt.

“Gotta go, babe,” Kes said, “I have to help Cass lug a computer up from the tech lab because he’s _still on light duties and shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy_.”

At that, Cassian turned to glare at him.

“Yeah,” Kes laughed, smiling, “Yeah, he is. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Bye.”

He rolled to his feet, tossing his datapad back onto his mattress.

“I don’t need your help,” Cassian said.

“Yes,” Kes said, “You do.”

Cassian didn’t sigh, just turned and left the room, limping only slightly.

* * *

“I don’t really know what to say,” Kes said, dumping a large spoonful of the Unidentifiable Soup of the Day into his bowl.

“Really,” Shara, behind him in line, replied flatly, “ _You_ don’t know what to say.”

He narrowed his eyes, turned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means,” Shara said, snatching the last bread roll out of his hand and placing it on her plate.

Kes sighed, looking out at the sea of tables.

“I mean,” he said, “Look at him. He’s _glaring_ at her.”

“Don’t act like you were any better,” Shara snorted, brushing past him to the caf dispensers.

“Yeah,” Kes said, hurrying after her, “But I was _normal_ about it. I spent a lot of time with you. I made stupid jokes. Kriff, I _talked_ to you. Don’t you think that’s kind of, you know, important? Talking?”

Shara turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“When have you ever known Cassian to _talk_ about anything?”

Kes paused, considering.

“Good point,” he conceded, following as they wound their way through the tables, breath frosting in the air.

Shara dropped her tray with a loud clatter directly in front of Cassian, thumping into a seat directly in his eyeline.

Cassian jumped, a dull flush creeping across his cheeks.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Shara said.

Cassian didn’t reply, wolfing down the last of his meal and standing with his tray.

“ _Cassian_ ,” Shara snapped.

He turned and left.

Shara watched him limp away, a faint crease appearing between her eyes.

“I'm guessing it’s not just that, is it?” Kes said, sitting carefully.

“No,” Shara replied, “It’s not.”

* * *

Cassian spent his remaining medical leave locked away in his quarters, scrounging his memory for this matrix or that loop, clacking away furiously at the computer he had commandeered from the analytics lab. He ate and slept at their cramped desk, rarely speaking beyond occasional muttered curses, uttered in frantic anger.

Kes was at wit’s end.

He cajoled. He threatened. He begged. Cassian ignored him entirely, scowling, lines of anger matching the lines of pain across his face.

“What do I say?” Kes asked Shara helplessly, “He’s lost another father. Another family. Another _planet_.”

“I don’t know,” Shara replied, “There isn’t anything any of us can say.”

“I don’t believe that,” Kes said, “There has to be something.”

“Someone,” Shara corrected.

* * *

It was a mark of Kes’s depth of concern that he even considered approaching Jyn Erso.

It was a mark of Kes’s depth of character that he did so.

He cornered her one afternoon just outside the mess hall, and from the way her eyes narrowed, he knew that he had no more than a half second to explain himself before he received a pointed knee to the groin.

“Cassian,” he said.

She stilled, feet planted wide, knees bent, a wild, feral light in her eyes.

“He’s drowning,” he said.

Jyn squinted at him, clearly uncertain as to whether he had a death wish or was just completely out of his mind.

Clearly, he hadn’t thought this through.

“Alderaan,” he said next.

Another blank look.

“Look,” Kes said, frustrated with himself, with her, with Cassian, with _everything_ , “You need to talk.”

“To Cassian,” she said flatly.

“ _Yes_ , to Cassian,” he snapped, “You can drop the act. I know you--care about him.”

Her eyes flashed, and through it all, Kes somehow found the ability to laugh. _Of course_ this would be the woman.

Cassian had never made things easy.

“He’s been having a rough time,”  Kes tried to explain, struggling and failing miserably.

“Really,” Jyn replied, sharp, pointed, accusing.

“He won’t talk to anyone.”

“Well, that’s nothing new.”

“Jyn, he just lost his family.”

“I thought you were his family.”

“Bail Organa was his father,” Kes blurted.

Jyn stared at him.

Kes winced.

“Fark, not quite like that,” he said quickly, “He spent some time on Alderaan. They were close. Basically family.”

Jyn’s eyes narrowed.

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

“ _Fark_ , woman!” Kes swore loudly, irritation sparking to anger, attracting looks from a passing group of pilots, “Can you, for just once in your life, try to understand things from someone else’s point of view? In the past month, he’s led forty men--all good friends, good men--to their deaths, lost a father--his third, by the way--lost a planet--his _second_ , come within an inch of losing his own life, and now he’s locked himself away in our quarters trying to recreate his dead best friend just so he can stop thinking about the fact that he doesn’t know what to do about you!”

“So, it’s my fault, is it?” Jyn hissed, “He can’t make up his mind, and it’s on me?”

“ _No!_ ” Kes shouted, “Would you just-- _listen_ to me! This is nobody’s fault. People die all the time, and it’s _never_ any one person’s fault. That’s just the point, don’t you see?” He gestured violently. “You know Cassian. You understand how he thinks. No, don't say you don't. I know you do. You two are so similar sometimes it just makes me want to scream. Think about it. What do you think he’s doing right now? He’s trying to fix things, trying to put Kaytoo back together. Why? Because _he thinks it’s all his fault_.”

Jyn’s face betrayed nothing. She crossed her arms across her chest.

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me and not you?”

“I don’t,” Kes snapped, “He won’t even talk to Shara, let alone me, and the senator…” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand across his chin. He looked down at her. “The only person he’d ever have listened to is dead. Frankly, we’re just out of options.”

“I’m touched,” she snarled, but there was little heat behind her words.

“Just think about it, will you?” Kes said, “You don’t have to promise to do anything. Just--” he shook his head, “Just think about it. Please. We’re all the family he has left.”

Jyn said nothing.

“Okay,” Kes said.

* * *

He, as had recently always been the case, could not concentrate. Scrolling green code blurred and fell away. He struggled through his memory, wondering how he’d done it last time--months, it had taken, months hidden away in a decommissioned U-wing, pulling files from the encrypted data banks of an Imperial security droid until one day, he’d jammed a C-3 card into it in frustration and watched in mingled horror and fascination as it slowly turned to him and offered him a mug of caf.

The door to his quarters whirred open.

He ignored it, hunching lower over the keyboard, pretending he understood what he was doing.

Footsteps approached, light, familiar.

He closed his eyes.

“What do you want?” he demanded, without turning.

“Your bunkmate is worried about you.”

“What do you want?” he repeated.

She stopped right beside him, inches away. He did not look up.

“It’d be easier if you rewrote the personality protocol after you cracked the hardwiring,” she said.

“I know what I’m doing,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said sharply, “I don’t doubt that.”

She turned away, and he was cold again. He heard her yank open the K-X unit’s access panel.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, turning.

She yanked out the C-3 card, pulled another, unmarked card from her pocket, and shoved it violently back into the drive.

“Jyn,” he snapped, struggling to his feet.

Before he could reach her, Jyn disconnected the power cables and activated the unit.

White eyes flickered to life.

“ _Fark_ ,” Cassian swore, drawing his blaster, “Have you lost your mind?”

“ _I_ haven’t,” Jyn replied.

The K-X unit remained seated and regarded them in silence.

“What did you do?” Cassian demanded.

Jyn ignored him.

“Cassian,” said the K-X unit.

He froze, blaster trained, steady despite trembling hands, between the steady white glow of the droid’s optics.

The K-X unit turned to Jyn.

“Jyn,” it said.

It turned back to Cassian.

“I do not understand,” it said.

“Wh--” Cassian stammered, “What--”

“My name is K-2SO,” the droid said, “I’m a reprogrammed Imperial security droid.”

Cassian turned to Jyn.

“It doesn’t have any of K-2’s memory files,” Jyn said, finally, “I copied over the Alliance database, but you’ll have to start over with everything else. The personality--”

“You should lower your blaster,” K-2 said, “Shooting me has a 99% probability of preventing the development of desirable relations.”

Cassian choked, twisting back around to the droid.

They regarded each other in uncharacteristic silence.

Cassian holstered his blaster.

“Well, that’s a relief,” K-2 said. He looked from Cassian to Jyn and back again. “There is a significant amount of information missing from my security protocols, especially pertaining to command procedure.” He paused. “I don’t know why I just told you that.” He paused again. “ _Or_ that.”

Cassian looked away.

“You should sit down,” K-2 said, “A human in your condition would not benefit from--”

“--Thank you,” Cassian said quietly.

K-2 drew back.

“While I appreciate the sentiment--”

“--not you, Kay,” Cassian said.

He glanced up at Jyn.

She was looking at him, really looking at him, the way she had on the Imperial cargo ship on the way back from Eadu. The way that told him she knew the truth.

“I’ve never been to Alderaan,” she said, “but I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the spring.”

Cassian heard the servos in K-2’s mechanical head whir and strain.

He swallowed, hard, and sat heavily on the edge of his mattress.

“It was,” he replied.


	6. Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casual conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references Chapter 2 of ALBOE and Chapter 6 of _Sacrifice_.

“Tell me about Alderaan,” she said late one night in the deserted, frigid mess.

Cassian looked at her over the rim of his mug.

“Good luck with that,” Kes said blandly, taking a large gulp of his Coreillian whisky.

Shara elbowed him in the ribs, and he spluttered, coughing.

Cassian set his mug down slowly, turning it in his hands.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Of course,” Kes sighed.

“Why you were there, for one,” she replied, wolfing down a dinner roll, “Unless it was a while ago, I can’t imagine what Rebel Intelligence would want on Alderaan.”

Kes shot her a look. Jyn ignored him.

Cassian frowned distantly, deepening the crease between his eyebrows.

“I was there on medical leave,” he said finally, “Officially, I was assigned as a security attaché to Senator Organa.”

“When?”

He remembered the Founding Day fireworks splitting the sky.

“A little over a year ago.”

“Medical leave for what?”

“For getting beaten half to death on Naboo and bleeding out across half the entire galaxy as Kaytoo flew him back to Yavin 4 in some poodoo shuttle from the Old Republic,” Kes replied.

Jyn raised her eyebrows.

“Impressive,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied, staring contemplatively down into his mug.

Shara and Kes shared a look. Jyn ignored this as well, or she pretended she did.

“What was he like?” she asked, blunt, direct, “I never spoke to him.”

Kes cringed, taking another long pull of whisky.

Cassian flinched badly, mug clattering on the table. He took a breath, words, memories, stories, springing to his mind, flooding, drowning.

“What do you remember of him?” he asked instead.

Jyn considered her empty plate.

“He was a very tired man,” she said after a while.

Cassian dredged up a pained smile.

“You wouldn’t have found a harder working man in the entire Rebellion,” he said, seeing, once again, the long, longing embrace in the front entry of the east wing of House Organa as husband and wife reunited.

At that memory, something hard eased, drifted aside.

“He’d fought in the Clone Wars,” he said, “Christophsis. He was head of the Senate Security Committee back then.” He sat, thinking. “For all that, he--” a massive effort, “--was a very gentle man. A gentleman.” He laughed to himself. “A good man.”

He was well aware of Kes’s disbelieving stare, so he looked at Jyn instead.

“You were close,” she said, indirectly, for once, probing the obvious.

“We were,” he replied, shifting on the bench, “He knew my father.” At Jyn’s look, he clarified. “My step-father was from Alderaan.”

Jyn frowned.

“I thought you were from Fest,” she said.

“Good try,” Cassian snorted.

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Kes muttered, “Just tell her.”

“She already knows,” Cassian replied, turning back to Jyn, eyebrows raised, “Don’t you.”

“It’s a little obvious,” Jyn admitted.

“Force,” Kes groaned, “Am I the only one who didn’t figure it out?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said.

“It took him over a year,” Shara told Jyn helpfully.

“And even then, I had to tell him myself,” Cassian added, “Some bunkmate.”

“Hey!” Kes protested, “We’re not all spies or--” he looked pointedly at Shara, “--blood relations.”

“Cousins,” Shara supplied again, very helpfully.

Jyn smiled a little, and Cassian felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Mid Rimmers,” he muttered drily, catching her eye, “Inferiority complexes.”

Jyn looked away, hiding her grin in her shoulder.

“Shut up,” Kes growled, glaring, “We weren’t all raised in the Outer Rim.”

“Ah, right. Mid Rim problems,” Cassian replied, needling, “Of course.”

Kes sighed good-naturedly.

“Naboo,” Jyn said.

“What, did you read my personnel file or something?” Kes asked.

“No,” Jyn replied, waving her hand in the general area of his chin, “It’s the weird facial hair.”

Shara snorted, spluttering.

“Force,” Kes muttered sourly, “You’ve all just got it in for me today, haven’t you?”

“It’s fun,” Jyn said.

Kes looked at her, mildly affronted.

“I don’t even _know_ you,” he said.

“Exactly,” Cassian replied.

They sat in silence for a while, comfortable, resting in a new pattern of familiarity.

“How’s Kaytoo coming along?” Shara asked.

“Fine,” Cassian replied, “Still some issues with the personality protocol, but those are minor issues.”

Jyn snorted.

Cassian ignored her.

“He should be operational by the time I’m back on active duty.”

Jyn prodded her remaining dinner roll.

Shara and Kes shared another look.

“You know, I can see it when you guys do that,” Cassian said, “It’s irritating.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Shara protested.

“Exactly,” Cassian repeated.

“It’s their secret language of silence, babe,” Kes said loudly, “We’re intruding.”

“Oh, Force,” Shara rolled her eyes and stood, “We’re leaving.”

Kes gulped down the last of his whisky and leaned back, stretching.

“Yup,” he said, pushing himself up. “Good talk,” he said to Jyn.

“‘Night,” Shara said, seizing her tipsy husband by the elbow and steering him away.

Cassian hid a smile in his mug.

Jyn hid hers in her dinner roll.

They did not speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably only a few chapters left in this AU, as ALBOE has been devouring my time.


	7. Nine Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kes gets the truth out of Cassian, except it’s not quite the truth he was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Chapter 3 because I don’t ever really write anything in chronological order.
> 
> Strongly references the "Beginnings" miniseries of _Sacrifice_ (Chapters 15-16).  
>  Also references the "Implosion" miniseries from that same work (Chapters 7-13).

“You know what I’m going to say, so I’m not even going to bother,” Kes said, carefully rubbing Poe’s back as he’d seen Cassian do.

Cassian, hollow-eyed and more subdued than a week’s worth of bed rest called for, ignored him, scrolling through his datapad with tepid interest.

“Cass.”

Cassian didn’t respond.

“Fine,” Kes said shortly, “I’ll ask the question.” He eyed his bunkmate, who still displayed no sign of acknowledgement. “What happened between you two? Not yesterday. Everyone knows what happened yesterday.” He paused again. “On Scarif. What happened on Scarif? You ran after her like a farking gundark out of the nine hells on Jedha, then Eadu, and then you dragged _all_ of us into it on Scarif, but pretty much since then, every time the two of you meet, it’s like someone set off some hyperdrive explosion.”

A faint crease appeared between Cassian’s eyebrows.

“Ah, _fark_ this,” Kes muttered, reaching out and snatching the datapad from his hands, “You’re not going anywhere. We’re having this out right now.”

Cassian turned slowly and glared at him.

“This,” he said flatly, voice rough.

“Yes,” Kes snapped, stopping abruptly and checking to make sure he hadn’t woken his son. “Yes, _this_ ,” he said, in hardly above a whisper.

“And what,” Cassian snarled, “Do you mean by _this?_ ”

“Whatever you’ve got going on with Jyn Erso,” Kes retorted, equally irritated, “It’s been two years. _Two years_ since Scarif, and you’re still trying to ignore the fact that you’ve fallen completely and utterly thick-skull-over-hard-arse for her.”

Cassian’s eyes hardened. He gripped one rail of the medibed, sucking in a breath.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat, “You have _no idea_.”

“Don’t start with this,” Kes returned, “Not the ‘Oh Sith, I’m a terrible person. I’ve killed people with my bare hands, she deserves someone better’ shavit. She’s done the same, so don’t go trying to take the moral high ground. You two _have_ no moral high ground, can’t you see? That’s why you’re so…” He threw up his one free hand, “... _good_ for each other.”

Cassian looked away, and Kes knew he had struck a nerve.

Kes held out a fist.

“Here,” he snapped, “I’m going to sum up your arguments for you.” He stuck up his index finger. “You don’t deserve it. Well, I hate to break it to you, Cass, but you do. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. By Force, where are you ever going to find another woman like that?’ He stuck up his middle finger. “You don’t have time for this. Excuse me,” Kes pointed his two extended fingers at his sleeping son, “I’m asking you to _talk_ to the woman you’re _pining_ for, not have one of these, _please_.” Up shot the ring finger. “Your life is too dangerous, you could die, she could die, blah blah, yeah yeah. Why do you think Shara and I got married? Flying A-wings isn’t exactly known for extending life expectancy, you know? Gotta make it count.” Up went the little finger. “You have no idea why you feel like this because you think you’re a farking droid and droids, as Kaytoo likes to remind us, have no feelings. Well, _newsflash_ \--” Kes waved his hand around, “--you’re not a droid. I felt the same way when I met Shara--like getting hit by a X-wing and then being dragged off through hyperspace hanging on to its S-foils. It’s normal. Please, for once in your life, act like a normal human being.” He jabbed his thumb into the air, muttering, “Fark, I’m running out of fingers.”

Then, he paused, hesitated. He looked Cassian in the eye and wiggled his thumb.

“You think history’s going to repeat itself.”

At that, Cassian flinched badly.

“I _knew_ it,” Kes muttered, slumping back into his chair, “She’s not the first one.”

Still, Cassian said nothing, pale and still as synthstone.

Desperately, Kes tried to think of something Bail Organa would say in this situation. Something diplomatically humorous, something gently probing.

Ah, fark it. He would never be Bail Organa.

“When?” he demanded, “Who?”

Poe stirred on his shoulder and made a small, sleepy sound.

Cassian turned, startled. His gaze fixed on Kes’s son, stricken, for just a nanosecond.

But Kes had known Cassian Andor for nearly six years now.

“Oh fark,” Kes said. Then, after another beat, he repeated, “Oh fark.”

Cassian, resigned, sighed and sank back into the medi-bed.

“ _F_ _ark_ , Cass,” Kes said again, something breaking deep in his chest.

Cassian closed his eyes.

“Nine years ago,” he said finally, “You wouldn’t know her.”

“Nine years-- _that young?_ ” Kes said, “You--”

“--We were nineteen,” Cassian said, opening his eyes again and staring vacantly at the opposite wall. He turned to Kes. “And it was open war on Fest. Against the Empire. Against what remained of the Separatists. Against ourselves, sometimes.”

Kes swallowed. Hard.

“That’s why you finally decided to leave Fest,” he said instead, pieces of the final puzzle falling into place.

“That was my falling out with Travia,” Cassian said. He stopped short, hands fisted in blankets. “It was her daughter. Younger daughter. I never knew about Kolya. No one did, really.”

Even now, Kes could see how much those words cost him.

“You have a kid,” he said nevertheless, relentlessly.

Cassian flinched again.

“A son,” he said quietly, “We did.”

“Ah, fark,” Kes muttered to himself. “I’m sorry, Cass,” he said, full of apology.

Cassian shrugged, and Kes felt his anger rise again.

“No, it’s not fine,” he snapped, “ _Fark._ Don't pretend it meant nothing.”

Cassian turned to him and said simply, hollowly, “Now you know.”


	8. Beginnings, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At eighteen, he became a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts One and Two of this "Beginnings" miniseries are Chapters 15 and 16 of _Sacrifice_. I might move this chapter over there eventually. Still not quite sure where it fits in this particular narrative.

At eighteen, he became a father.

It was a monumental occasion--the first wartime child, born to the very young, beloved battalion commander and the daughter of the sector chief. There was much quiet celebration, much boyish joking, slaps on the back.

Travia Chan was less than pleased. Had been, since the two had approached her five months ago, heads high, defiant, in the full blush of youth uncowed by the prospect of raising a child on a frozen planet fighting a losing battle against an ever-growing regime of terror.

Some part of her, however, the part that had borne a child of her own at the height of the Clone Wars, was proud. They were young, far too young, yet they understood what it meant to be parents, what it meant to have a child. It meant making a decision, and it was with no small measure of regret that she received the fruits of her chosen path, a daughter who long ago had learned to fend for herself, who had never viewed her as _Mother_ , only _Commander_.

Cassian, the wild boy she had taken in years ago, met her gaze evenly, like the man he had been for some years now. _Travia_ , she was to him, not _Commander_. She did not like to think if _Mother_ had ever crossed his mind.

There was something feral about the two of them, raised together in the freezing purgatory of Fest. They blazed with unique light, preternatural grace, untamable. The battalion commander and his second-in-command, a different sort of war bride.

And now this.

A child, to be born into this hell, this endless war of rebellion.

Dutifully, she was there when the time came, watching as her daughter cursed and shouted, clinging to him. She watched as he stood firm at her side, blaster-scorched, rushed from the battlefield, gripping her hand, smoothing her hair with a tenderness he had never known.

A boy, it was, healthy, squalling his displeasure with the galaxy, that he placed into her arms.

They asked her if she wanted to name him. Strangely touched, she refused.

 _Jeron_ , Cassian had said, looking down at himself, born again, another child of war and circumstance.

Everyone helped raise the boy.

Out of love for his father, their fearless, flaming commander, the infirm held the babe in the medbay as plasma shells rained down overhead, singing low, quiet songs of a land after thaw, covering his ears, his eyes so he wouldn’t yet know the world into which he had been born. They were all there when the child took his first steps, dark eyes wide, laughing, surprised. They all stepped forward when he wobbled, straightened, and fell--straight into his father’s arms. His father, who, weighed down by the burden of a hundred responsibilities, felt more and more like common, ordinary man with each passing day.

Travia saw this, watched this, from afar.

When they were overrun, finally, the trenches breached, the buttressed walls flattened, she watched, with eyes closed, as her son ran after her daughter, heard him, with stopped ears, cry their names. From the safety of a heavily armored ship bound for Generis, she felt his grief shatter time and space, shake the very foundations of the galaxy, and she knew she had lost them all.

Loom Carplin, commander of the Mantooine battalion and the only reason any of them had made it out alive, told her later he’d had to club her son senseless to carry him from the wreckage, away from their bodies. There was apology in his voice, though for what she did not care to think.

She arrived on Generis and learned her son had disappeared, resigned his post immediately, and left for the Rebel base on Yavin 4.

They didn’t speak for many years, she, bitterly hurt by his desertion, and he, bitterly hurt by hers.

But though the frost on Fest never thawed, continued grief, hot and bright, burned away years of resentment, sparking to anger when, finally, he returned, shadowed, weary, to help her retake her planet.

And anger burned away the cold.

They never spoke about what had happened, and after the liberation of Fest, he left again.

But she knew now, just as she had always known, somehow, that if she called, he would return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This miniseries is in danger of becoming a story of its own. How many pet projects can I manage, seriously?


	9. Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after Scarif.

“I can’t,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

Two months after Scarif, they stood at an impasse.

Cassian looked away first and hated himself for it.

She stepped towards him.

“I don’t care,” she said, “You think I care?”

He shook his head.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Then tell me.”

She saw the way the lines at the corners of his eyes tightened, closing him off from her, everyone, the galaxy.

She remembered the way they deepened when he laughed, when he smiled.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“Cassian,” she said, stepping closer.

“People die,” he admitted, as if no one knew.

“Really,” she said, as if she hadn’t held her dead, dying, dead father.

He looked at her then and saw everything he remembered. The way she’d laughed. The way she’d talked. The way they’d fought. Just like this, always like this, in fragments of speech, circling silence, everything unspoken.

Some of it must have shown in his face--the horror, the realization--because she stepped closer, drawn, as if by instinct, to the spectre of death.

He stood abruptly, lurched unsteadily to his feet, shied away.

The hurt in her eyes was the same.

But somehow, the pain was greater now, sharper in this face.

She stepped back, shuttered.

Silence.

Cassian turned away first and hated himself for it.

“I can’t,” he said.

When he turned around again, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to have been up last night to coincide with today's chapters of _A Little Bit of Everything_. 
> 
> Well.


	10. To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian to the women in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong references to recent developments in Chapter 23 of _A Little Bit of Everything_.

**JYN**

She watches. She waits.

It’s not one of her strong suits, and she could do without the practice.

But even if she doesn’t understand, she does, in a way. Things that can’t be said. Things that, if said, would cripple individual galaxies.

So she waits. And watches.

Even half-crippled, his men respect him. The fresher faces show fear as well, but he does nothing to encourage that, limping down the firing line with a professional warmth, a distant warmth, detached and engaged all at once.

She watches him in the briefing room, lingering in the shadows, offering pointed questions, always polite, always reserved, yet edged with subtle bite.

She watches him the hangar, sleeves rolled up, perched precariously on an S-foil, grimacing when he thinks no one can see.

She watches him with Shara and Kes, laughing. She watches him with Leia, understanding.

She knows that he watches her too.

They watch each other, waiting for something to break.

 

**LEIA**

He hasn’t been the same since Scarif, that much is obvious.

It’s not just the permanent lines of pain etched around his mouth, or the way he pretends he doesn’t flinch away when she draws near.

To be honest, she can’t blame him.

She hasn’t been the same since Scarif either.

Gone are the days she’d sidle up to him with half a smile, tugging him by the hand away from his work, _their_ work, for a stroll down the shore of Lake Aldera, or a day spent on the Apalis Coast, letting their fear ease with the brisk roll of the sea. Lake Aldera is gone. The Apalis Coast is gone. Alderaan is gone. Her father is gone. Cassian is gone, wrapped again in his self-devised armor of guilt and self-hatred that, for just the briefest of months in the warmest of springs, her father had managed to peel away.

Before Scarif.

 

**SHARA**

She worries.

Kes worries too, but it’s different for him.

Kes doesn’t know the whole story.

She does.

She is from Fest.

She’d seen the way he looked at Tantim.

It’s the same way he looks at Jyn.

It’s frightening because she alone, out of everyone--everyone that’s left, at least--knows just how deeply he feels and just how much he struggles not to.

She had been among those who had fled to Generis. She had also been the one to fly him to Yavin 4 in the aftermath.

Somehow, she feels as if she’s seeing it all over again.

But she had been the only one to return with him to Fest to retake their planet from the Empire.

And, Force knew, she would do it again.

She would follow him across the galaxy if only it meant bringing him back alive.

 

**JYN**

She wishes he would just tell her, much as she wishes she could just tell him. Tell him that she has dreamed about these sorts of things, about finding someone who--fit. Tell him, admit to him, confess to him, that she does wish for things, that she does care.

But she doesn’t.

Because she knows that if she does, she will break.

And she refuses to break before he does.

 

**LEIA**

Very often now, she finds herself giving orders. Orders, not commands. She is a de facto general of the Rebellion now, not a princess, though the High Command is composed almost entirely of fearsomely loyal Alderaanians who had served her father since the Clone Wars and still, from time to time, forget that their home has been scattered across the galaxy, that their Queen and Viceroy are dead, and call her Princess.

She pretends that she doesn’t mind, but it cuts her deeply.

She knows that he can tell.

He’s taken to standing behind her and just off to the side during their briefings, forsaking the shadows, the anonymity of his grief, to once again play the part of her loyal Captain of the Guard, his presence painfully reminiscent, grounding.

She never thanks him because she is his commander now, and she cannot be his commander if she breaks in the face of his sacrifice. As a commander, she must learn to not only accept this, but to also ask for more.

And he will give it. He will give himself. He will give what he doesn’t have. She knows he will.

She must accept this. And ask for more.

 

**SHARA**

She had known Tantim well. They had been friends.

And, in a very broad sense, they had been family. It had been Tantim that had told her much of Cassian’s story, casually worked into the odd passing comment--

_He goes down to the hangar when he can’t sleep._

_You can trust him with your ‘ship. His mom was a starship engineer._

_He doesn’t believe me when I say he’d be a really good dad._

At that last bit, Cassian would laugh and roll his eyes.

He’d done that fairly often, she remembered, in the early days of the war against the Empire. Before they’d lost and he’d lost and she’d flown him away from Fest. She’d seen a brief glimpse of that Cassian, that old, smiling boy, before his return from Alderaan.

Now, though--

It was as if she and Loom Carplin had just yesterday pulled him from their bodies, senseless with grief.

 

**MON MOTHMA**

It is not her place to care.

Regardless, she does.

She realizes she has known Cassian Andor for nearly half of his life. The thought makes her feel old. Older, even, than she actually is.

He’s only just young enough to be her son, but she would never presume.

She and Bail Organa had been good friends, despite their ideological differences, and she had been there at the very beginning on Fest, seen the way his eyes had rested on the boy with a strange intensity, a strange burden of responsibility that had taken her far too long to understand.

It is in the name of this ghostly friendship that she allows Cassian to storm around the base, wretchedly, crookedly, like a man missing half of himself.

She does her best to protect him.

She knows he would never forgive her.

She cannot forgive herself.


	11. Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han and Cassian have a conversation about Women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References Chapters 20-23 of _A Little Bit of Everything_.
> 
> Involves gratuitous use of the work "fark."

“You and I have a lot in common, you know,” Han Solo said as he thunked his mug down, uninvited, on the table.

Cassian blinked up at him.

“Really,” he said.

“Yeah,” Han took a massive gulp of the night’s alcoholic beverage of choice. Blearily, he said, “You two are just friends, right? I feel like it’s something I should be asking you.”

Cassian glared at him.

“Kes put you up to this, didn’t he.”

“What? _No_ ,” Han snorted, “Dameron wouldn’t recognize good old complicated, potentially unrequited love if it came up and slapped him in the face.” He shook his head, “He and Shara had it too easy.”

Cassian eyed him suspiciously and set his datapad down beside him on the bench.

“It’s just--” Han made a broad, sweeping gesture, “I wanted to be sure, you know.”

“Explain to me,” Cassian said tightly, “How this is any of your business.”

“Hey, _mister_ ,” Han said, jabbing a finger in his direction, “I took the high road coming to you first. I might be a smuggler, but that doesn’t mean I don’t got, you know, morals or whatever.”

“You’re drunk. And being ridiculous,” Cassian snapped, pushing himself up.

Han stood too.

“ _I’m_ not being ridiculous? _You’re_ the one that’s overreacting. Hells, if you two are dating, just tell me. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine and just--” he picked up his mug, took another gulp, “--get more drunk.”

“We’re not--” Cassian ground out the word, “-- _dating_.”

“Really?” Han asked, setting his mug down with miscalculated force, “‘Cause you two seem awfully close for two ‘just friends.’ And I know better than to ask her. She’d bite my head off. And then Chewie would be lonely.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Cassian muttered, snatching up his datapad.

“She cares about you a lot, you know,” Han continued, “She worries.”

“Imagine that,” Cassian snarled.

“ _Hey_ ,” Han said sharply, suddenly appearing much less inebriated than he had been a moment ago, “She really does. It’s obvious. The fark’s gotten into you?”

“You,” Cassian snapped, drumming his fingers on his datapad.

“Well, _fark_ , Cassian,” Han said, holding up both hands, “All I want to know is whether or not I’ll find you standing over me with a vibroblade to my throat in the middle of the night if I--I don’t know, move out of the ‘just friends’ region into the ‘yeah, I know’ sector with her.”

Cassian stared at him.

“Look, Dameron told me you gave him the mother of all shovel talks when he and Shara started doing the moochie moochie, so I’m just trying to, you know, avoid all that.”

“Are you asking my _permission_ to date Jy--”

“--Yeah, well if you want to put it that wa-- _Wait, Jyn?_ ” A look of sheer horror crossed Han's face. “ _Erso?_ ” he spluttered, “The _fark!?_ Why would I--oh _hells_ \--” Han groaned, gouging at his eyes with gloved fingers. “Aaaahhh,” he moaned, fumbling for his mug and taking several large gulps.

“What?” Cassian snapped.

“I’m not talking about _Erso_ ,” Han said, setting his mug down very gingerly, “Fark, that spitting wampa would eat me alive.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“ _Fark_ ,” Han burst out, “That was a joke! That was a _joke!_ I swear, the two of you--” he shook his head vigorously. “I’m talking about Leia,” he said, then looked over his shoulder at the deserted mess hall and repeated, more quietly, “ _Leia_ , not Erso.” He shuddered. “Definitely not her.”

“Why are you asking me?” Cassian demanded, “She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

“Yeah, I _know_.” Han rolled his eyes. “I guess I was just being... Never mind. Forget this conversation ever happened. Please.” He winced. “ _P_ _lease_.”

He tossed back the contents of his mug and slumped back onto the bench. Cassian stared at him, perplexed.

Then his words finally registered in Cassian’s mind.

“You and _Leia?_ ” he hissed.

“Ah, _fark_ ,” Han muttered, leaning forward and placing his face in his hands, “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

* * *

 

“So,” Kes said. 

“Fark you, Dameron,” Han snarled, irritably yanking open his locker door. It bounced back on its hinges and smacked him agreeably on the jaw

“I see it went well,” Kes said.

Han glared at him, hand pressed to his face.

“You knew this would happen,” he snapped, “Karking little shaab.”

Kes shrugged, tugging on his boots.

“He was gone when I got up this morning, so I kind of guessed.”

“You ‘kind of guessed’?” Han snorted, snatching a pair of extra-thick nerfhide gloves and tossing them onto the bench behind him, “You and Shara know him better than anyone. Don’t give me that _shavit_.”

Kes huffed a laugh.

“Fine,” he admitted, “I might have seen that coming, but still,” he stood, shrugging into his coat, “It was a good move. Shows you’re serious.” He glanced at Han, sidelong. “You _are_ serious, right?”

“Of course I am,” Han growled, “What do you take me for?”

Kes shrugged, grinning.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“ _Fark_ you, Dameron,” Han muttered.

* * *

 

“You’re good friends with Han,” Cassian said. 

“Oh fark,” Leia said, “Not you too.”

Cassian raised his eyebrows, sipping at his caf.

“What?” he asked.

Leia glared at him.

“Really?” she demanded, “I thought you, of all people--”

“--Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“--would understand the desire for a little _privacy_ when it comes to these things.”

Cassian couldn’t help but smirk at her, at the high blush on her cheeks, at the way she looked away. She forced her chin up and glared at him, mouth twitching.

After a long moment’s tense silence, they burst out laughing, voices echoing across the icy walls of her cramped quarters.

“Look at us,” Leia gasped, “We’re pathetic.”

“We are,” Cassian agreed with a fond, crooked smile, “But mostly you.”

“It’s just so--” Leia gestured, tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders, “-- _i_ _nconvenient_.”

Someone else might have laughed. Cassian shrugged lopsidedly. They sipped their caf, perched together on the edge of her bed, shoulder to shoulder.

“So what do you think?” she asked finally.

Cassian turned, looking down at her.

“About what? Han?”

“Yeah.”

Cassian looked away, brow furrowed.

“I think,” he said slowly, “That your father would have liked him.”

“You really think so?” Leia wrinkled her nose.

“Your mother would have loved him.”

Leia snorted, very undignified, into her caf.

“That,” she said, “I can see. But Father--” she cocked her head, “--really?”

“I don’t think he’d’ve expected anything less, to be honest.”

“Anything less than a one-time deserter-smuggler-drunk with a price on his head?”

Cassian smiled again, and it was sharp, all hard angles and brittle, crumbling edges.

“You forget he took in a many-time murderer-saboteur-spy with an even larger price on his head.”

Leia snorted.

“Between the three of us and Mon Mothma, we could probably fund the entire Rebellion for life if we turned ourselves in.”

“You should bring it up at the next Council meeting.”

“I think I will.”

They sat in silence again, warmth curling, coiling around them.

Leia drew a breath, as if to speak, then stopped, snapping her mouth shut and bringing her mug back to her lips.

“What?” Cassian asked, amused.

“How do you know?” Leia asked, fidgeting. She darted a look up at his face. “With Jyn.”

Cassian wished he had something stronger than re-heated caf in his mug. He imagined Bail Organa rolling in his metaphorical grave.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally.

“And that, Captain,” Leia said pointedly, “Is a lie.”

Cassian pressed his lips together.

“Maybe,” he admitted, downing the rest of his caf and setting the mug down on the floor by his feet.

“Why?”

Cassian shrugged uneasily.

“Don’t tell me ‘it’s complicated,’” Leia said, “I don’t believe you’ve watched enough holonovas to know what that means.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“And you have?”

Leia cocked her head, looking, for a moment, just as she had three years ago on the day they met in her father’s quarters on Yavin 4.

“Maybe,” she replied.

Cassian shook his head, leaning back, resting his weight on his hands.

“I just…” he trailed off, distant again. Leia caught an echo of old grief. “You just don’t know what might happen,” he said.

“Well,” Leia said, very dry, “Now _that’s_ a surprise.”

He wasn’t smiling when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Cassian?” she asked.

He blinked, hard.

“Nothing,” he replied.

Leia looked at him, evaluating.

“Are you ever going to tell me?” she asked.

“What?”

“That night on the Apalis Coast, when I came downstairs and found you both asleep in the sitting room.”

“Ah.” Cassian looked away sharply. He bent over, picked up his mug, remembered it was empty, and set it back down again. “It’s a long story.”

“Really.”

“Yes.” Cassian let out a pent-up breath. He ran a hand through his hair--grown long again, nearly to his shoulders. Leia watched him uncertainly. “Just--” he said, turning to her, eyes hard, “Be careful.”

Leia blinked.

“I don’t really think I needed the reminder, but thanks.”

“ _No_ ,” Cassian said sharply, “That goes without saying, doesn’t it? I mean, just be careful--” he scrubbed a hand through his beard, frustrated, searching for words, “--about how much you care.”

“Really?” Leia demanded, incredulous, “ _Really?_ That’s what you’re going to say?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied crisply, plucking her empty mug from her hands and scooping up his own from the floor. He stood, watched her watching him. Relented, a little. To her, at least, he owed that much.

“How do you know?” he asked rhetorically. He forced out his response. “You don’t. Not really. Not until they’re gone.”

He watched indignation break, shatter into a sad understanding that had become far too familiar.

He turned away.

“Cassian,” Leia said, stopping him in his tracks, “If that’s what you think it means to be careful, then you're the most reckless man I’ve ever known.”


	12. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it ended. This is how it began.

The end was unsurprising.

The spectre of the Death Star II loomed above them as they stood, side-by-side, necks craned, in the thick, rich air of Endor. Jyn looked at him and saw the way his pulse fluttered in the thin, delicate skin of his throat. She looked away.

He had volunteered for this, to lead the planetside defenses.

“I’ve done it before,” he’d said in the tense briefing with High Command, over her sharp protests.

And Mon Mothma had looked at him with such sadness, such resignation, and agreed.

 _Done what before?_ Jyn wanted to ask. _Thrown your life away?_

Han had taken one look at her face afterwards and said, “You stay here, sister. We can do without you.” _But he can’t_ , went unsaid.

And so, of course, she had followed him, over his sharp protests.

She still felt the imprint of Kes’s hand on her arm, gripping her tightly, fiercely.

“Thank you,” he’d said, dark eyes sincere.

She’d watched, from afar, as Cassian had caught Leia’s shoulder with an outstretched hand, pulling her aside, watched the earnestness in his face, the urgency in the way he spoke.

 _Bail Organa was his father_.

He’d turned back to her then, lips pressed thin, eyes hollow with pain.

To be honest, Bright Tree Village was not the most indefensible position in which she had ever found herself, but it was certainly far from ideal. She glanced up at him again, and this time, he bent to meet her gaze, a faint, quizzical twist to his lips.

“You’ve got to give the Empire points for creativity,” she said, her throat dry, “The Death Star II. I’m sure Tarkin lost a bit of sleep over that.”

He looked away, eyes crinkling at the corners.

After a moment, he said quietly, “You should be with the Pathfinders.”

“They don’t need me,” she replied.

In truth, they both should be with the Pathfinders. She was, ridiculously enough, Han’s joint  second-in-command, alongside Kes. He was an Intelligence agent, bred for infiltration.

But she knew he had found his limits, recognized the constant, throbbing pain in his back that had never eased, matched it to the sprinkling of grey in his hair, and concluded that, today at least, he could not trust himself to be quite as quick or as strong as he needed to plunge through a forest moon and save the Alliance.

She thought he was correct, if Cassian Andor had decided, for the first time, to allow the young and whole to share in his burden.

Again, she read the lines around his eyes, the way he shifted so slightly beside her, the almost-invisible roll of his shoulders. At thirty, he was an old, broken man, pouring himself into a struggling cause.

“They’ve started,” he spoke again, low and piercingly gentle.

She tore her gaze away from him, peering up into the sky, at the tiny, inconsequential flashes of light, lives, coursing, burning for just the briefest of moments before flaring out.

She was twenty-six now, as old as he had been when they’d met, and yet she knew she would never understand the age in his eyes.

 _I’ve done it before_.

She checked the charge on her blaster, brushed a hand against the truncheon at her side. Thought about all they had lost in four years. Thought about all they had gained.

The ground trembled.

They glanced at each other, peering through the fog, through the shadows.

She stepped closer to him, protectively.

And, as the first AT-ST lurched into view, she realized that this--this here--was where she had always been meant to be.

* * *

It was a losing battle, and slowly, surely, they dropped back through the forest.

They spoke the same silent language of guerilla warfare, jumping in, stinging, nettling, sweeping in and out under the unrelenting cover fire of their determined friends in the trees, striking, running.

Cassian had done this before--fought on the front lines, spurning the shadows, leading in a blaze of light. She followed him, drawn, as ever, to his side. _This_ was what he had been born to do, she realized, pressing her back to the broad, steady trunk of a massive redwood tree, hearing him shout encouragement, scrubbing sweat and blood from her eyes. _This_ , not slinking through dark alleys, smothering his light.

Drunk on fear and realization, Jyn let out a sharp laugh, a feral thing that took wing and soared away from this death into the burning sky.

Cassian dove to the ground beside her, yanking out a spent blaster cartridge and slotting another back in its place. He looked curiously up at her, unguarded, and she laughed again.

Then the stormtroopers were on them again, and they ran, fled, flying through the air, Cassian just behind, slowing his stride, she sensed, to match hers. She thought she felt the shadow of the Death Star fall over her, pursuing her through blaster fire and stinging branches, freezing her heart, breathing her father’s misspent life down her back. She stumbled, and Cassian reached down, yanking her up, pushing her on and turning to face the oncoming tide, standing boldly, a stationary target, blaster couched against his shoulder.

“Go!” he shouted, hoarse and wild, because this also was what he had been born to do.

Sacrifice.

Jyn stumbled again and fell, choking on rage.

He sprinted away from her, drawing a jagged line through the forest to the rich, moist earth they both knew could sink and swallow. He wasn’t leaving her, she realized. Cassian had never left her.

He was letting her go.

She staggered to her feet and ran after him.

* * *

She found him, a lifetime later, lying half-buried among trampled ferns, their fragile stems twisted and crushed.

The forest was quiet. The shield generator was gone. The Death Star II was gone.

The Empire was gone.

He blinked his eyes open at her approach, slow and clouded.

“I hate you,” she said.

He smiled faintly.

“I know,” he whispered.

She sank down by his side and pulled aside the dead, dying, dead branches. He watched her through heavily-lidded eyes, head lying limply on one shoulder.

Her hands stuttered when she reached his uniform.

She looked up at him.

“Don’t,” Cassian said, hardly a breath. His eyes drifted shut, dark hollows in a bloodless face.

“Cassian,” she said. “ _Cassian_ ,” she repeated.

She watched as he pulled himself back to life, starlight and stardust mingled.

He saw the tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No,” she shook her head. “ _No_.”

She scanned the treeline frantically. She’d commed Kes when she’d picked up Cassian’s trail, hours ago.

Cassian’s chest rose and fell shallowly, raggedly. She smelled scorched flesh, and suddenly she was on Eadu, rain mingling with tears, her father dead in her arms.

Cassian reached out and gripped her hand, hard. His eyes, when she dared to meet them, were bright.

“You,” he breathed, “Remind me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, shifting, struggling. “Someone I--”

Instinctively, Jyn reached out and put a hand to his cheek.

“ _Jyn_.” In her name, she heard the need, the yawning desperation.

“You can tell me later,” she said, looking away again, straining to hear the sound of a repulsorlift engine.

“ _No_ ,” he rasped, pushing her weakly away, “I have to--”

“--No, you don’t,” Jyn said, pressing both hands against his shoulders, keeping him still, “I’m sorry. _I’m_ sorry. You don’t. You shouldn’t ever have to.”

Cassian’s breath hitched in his chest, and he coughed, jaw clenched, straining.

“So much,” he gasped, “You remind me so much.”

“Too much,” Jyn said.

Cassian shivered.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn said again, anew.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

They stared at each other, closer than they had been.

In the distance, a whine.

* * *

“So,” Kes said, “How many bacta immersions is it going to take for you to admit that you might be hopelessly in love? Because this has gotten so far beyond excessive, even for you.”

Cassian limped slowly at his side, squinting up into the sun.

“Cass?” Kes prompted.

“We’ve talked,” Cassian said after another long period of hesitation.

Kes stopped in his tracks.

“ _No_ ,” he said, “You’re lying.”

Cassian shook his head.

“No.”

Kes hurried to catch up.

“Really?” he blurted, “ _When?_ ”

“Before I left Endor,” Cassian replied.

“ _And?_ ”

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“And what?”

"Farkyou,” Kes muttered sourly.

They strolled in silence, Cassian leaning unobtrusively on his walking stick, Kes close to bursting with exasperation. After another slow, silent lap of the clearing, Cassian jerked his chin off to the side, and they settled on a large packing crate in the shadow of the future Dameron home.

“I told her about Tantim,” Cassian said.

Kes looked at him.

“You did,” he said.

“On Endor, before you found us.”

“And how was that?” Kes asked.

Cassian fiddled with the head of his walking stick, long, thin fingers tapping out a distant rhythm.

“Alright,” he replied.

Kes groaned, “ _Cass_.”

Cassian smiled crookedly at him.

“She’s flying in next week on leave,” he said shyly, glancing away.

“ _Fark_ , it’s _about time!_ ” Kes exclaimed, shooting to his feet, “Even Leia and _Han_ got it together before the two of you.”

Cassian shrugged lopsidedly.

"What changed?" Kes asked, "It can't be near-death experiences. You've had three of them, and none of them even came close to working."

Cassian looked down at the grass, still slightly damp with morning dew.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I just--" he cut himself off and turned away, hands gripping his knees.

Kes waited.

"I spoke to Leia," Cassian continued, after a breath, "Before she left with you and Han." His hands twitched back to his walking stick, drumming out a restless heartbeat. "She and Jyn have no one left, Kes," he said, turning back to him, "No one. And yet, with Han, Leia found--something. She was angry with me, when we spoke." He smiled, very small and very sad. "She said that I would die for Jyn, and that Jyn would die for me. But she said something--" his voice clouded again, and he turned away sharply, angrily, "Something that Bail once told me, many years ago." He sank his chin down to his chest. Very quietly, he continued, "She said that sometimes, living is the greatest sacrifice. And what does it mean to love someone if all you're willing to do is die for them? Anyone can die." His eyes, sad and dark, spoke truth. "But it's much harder to live."

Kes eyed him.

"And then you went and ran off as bait for half a battalion of stormtroopers," he said flatly.

Cassian glared at him.

"Well, you can't love if the person you love is dead, can it?" he said acidly.

“Ah, fark,” Kes said, laughing, “I’m happy for you, Cass.”

Cassian shot him a look.

“We’ve agreed to speak each other,” he said, “Not _marriage_. Or--” he added pointedly as the distinctive silhouette of an A-wing appeared on the horizon, “--parenthood.”

“Yeah?” Kes called over his shoulder, striding towards his wife and son, “I wouldn't be so sure about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the end. It might not.
> 
> Requests?


End file.
